Vendetta Against the Hands
by KatFiction-AWallflower'sSister
Summary: A figure shrouded in mystery appears and kidnaps one of the Smashers; but why, the Smashers do not seem to know. Only the great Hands realise who this strange character is, and what it truly plans. But in a world where beings have no faces, and the good and the bad are in shades of grey, how can one truly know who is the hero and who is the villain? Are the Hands what they seem?
1. Prologue

**Hello! I welcome you to this fanfiction. I'd like to thank you for deciding to give this story a chance. This isn't my first post, but it is my first SSBB fanfic and my first actual ****_story._**** The other two are oneshots in a famdom which has nothing to do with SSBB (its called Teen Wolf, the other fandom). Anyway, I don't have much to say, except that I am new to this and I hope you enjoy my story!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own SSBB or Nintendo. it would be awesome if I did, but unfortunately that will never happen. I do own, absolutely ****_everything _****in this chapter though, except for the inspiration of Damon. I have a my cousin Angie to thank for that. She showed me this character in a series...**

**Anyway, onwards!**

-**Prologue-**

_The Newcomers_

Leather shoes clacked down the empty corridors, an echo resonating throughout the large, isolated mansion. The man wore a suit, sharp and crisp, with tailored white gloves and tailored black shoes and a pitch black tie hanging mildly loose around his neck. Reaching a grand door of a dark crimson hue with golden decorations embedded around the corners, he adjusted his tie carefully, making his attire seem more professional. A wide, silver platter rested on his left palm, held high near his head. Checking himself quickly once more, he knocked on the door three rapt knocks. A small, smirking smile appeared on his face.

"Who is it?"  
>The voice sounded occupied and soft and uninterested, but a vague sense of power swirled about the words. Too smooth, delicate and high pitched to be a young man- or even a boy-, the speaker was easily identified as a female. The dark man's smile widened for a brief second, before returning to the smirking grin he had held before. Polite, yet deceptive.<p>

"It is I, Damon, my Mistress. I have brought you your evening tea." For the briefest amount of time, silence reigned over and was thick, tense; to cut through with a knife. But it was swift, short and an answer quickly reached the ears of Damon.

"Damon." The person sounded surprised, and seemed to taste the word in her mouth. "Of course. You may pass."

Damon turned the golden knob on the door, and pushed it open, entering into the large room. The room's floor was scattered with pieces of paper, every single one of them home to a drawing or painting. If once looked closely, a wooden oak floorboard could be made out in between the mess. All walls, minus one, were covered with shelves that stored a grand variety of old, dusty-looking books. The bookshelves reached all the way up to the ceiling, towering over Damon by several meters, which would cause, to any normal person, some kind of discomfort, but Damon paid no heed. He was no normal person; he didn't feel uncomfortable; he might have even said that the place gave him some tranquillity.

The wall furthest back wasn't even a wall; it was entirely made of translucent glass, which allowed some of the sunset's light to filter through, shining brightly on the desk where his Mistress sat. Damon felt his lips twitch. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought she did that entirely on purpose; but Damon did know, and he knew that this would have been the last thing on her mind. The Mistress hated the spotlight, quite like him, and preferred to work behind the scenes, something Damon also was better at. Though what he was good at quite didn't matter. If the Mistress wished for him to work on the stage, then work he shall.

Speaking of said woman, she sat on the wide, cushioned chair, her left side of the face placed on the desk itself; Damon barely noticed, but her hand was twisted and seemed to be placed at an awkward, uncomfortable position, however the Mistress didn't seem to mind. At least, she was too preoccupied with something else to notice the ache in her elbow. Said something was a new 'toy' of hers, as she had coined it. A strange contraption, something Damon had never seen. It was cylinder shaped at the bottom and had a long stick handle on top. Obviously of bad quality, with some of the wood chipped at the edges of the handle and the paint already peeling off, yet his Mistress watched it with intense fascination and curiousity; for she had made it spin on its point, and had yet to stop since he had entered the room.

Damon stopped about a meter in front of her, waiting for a reaction. She kept staring at the object spinning, before finally acknowledging his presence.

"You found me." Her voice was calm, relaxed, but her lips twitched and her voice was just a bit higher than usual, Damon noticed. He noticed these things about the Mistress. And he knew what all this added up to: she was amused. A soft smile danced upon his lips; and he followed her act, just for the sake of it.

"I did."

"Took you long enough. How long was it? A month? Two? I lost count, Damon." Her eyes pierced his, and now her face held a clear smile across her face, one that was genuine, something that he had not seen in a long time.

"I apologise, Mistress. You are very good at playing around. As for the question, three months, and seven days, my lady. I counted every minute-every second, Mistress- I was parted from you."

At this, a small laugh escaped from her, and she sat up straighter, her thick, long, curly hair covering a large amount of her doll-like face, leaving visible only her peachy-coloured thin lips and part of her swirling amethyst stones for eyes. Everything else was covered in a milky-hued waterfall, her gleaming white hair.

"I'm sure you did my kind butler. I spent a large amount of my time thinking about you too. I worried for you." She cocked her head to the side and furrowed her brows at his sudden burst of laughter. "What do you find so amusing, pray tell, Damon?" Her voice was mildly annoyed, but her face was the complete opposite, betraying her thoughts.

"I find amusing the fact that you worry about_ me_, Mistress. That is all. Now, a quick side question. Tea, my lady?" Damon placed the silver platter on her desk, the teapot releasing warm steam through the spout. The Mistress looked up at him questioningly. "After all, Mistress, that is what I came here for."

"Lemongrass, Damon? How I so miss your tea! Much better than the bitter, black coffee served normally."

"Of course, my lady. Nothing less for you. I feel guilty leaving you to that horrible, beverage known as coffee, my lady."

"No need to do so, Damon. A small cup will do." Damon obeyed, and poured the tea into a small china cup, with beautiful, faint, flowery decorations painted on. His Mistress took a quick sip, and Damon took that as his leave. He turned around and started to head towards the door, but she stopped him.

"Damon, wait for a second." Damon paused, and then turned around to face his lady.

"Yes, my lady?"

"What of the mission? The one I assigned to you before my...disappearance."

"Completed as you asked, my lady." She raised a delicate eyebrow.

"Well? Come now, A debrief is needed. How are the Smashers?"

"Still weak. They are paranoid and not quite at their full strength yet." She frowned, angry.

"Why?!"

"Tabuu hit the core of their balance. The way he so easily captured them...made the trophies uneasy." She shot him a look.

"Smashers, Damon. They are people. Not mere objects." Damon shook his head.

"They are mere trophies, Mistress. You and I both know that." The fair-haired lady looked ready to argue, but let the subject go.

"If they are currently weak...it means the Hands are weak too. This is the perfect time to attack."

"I'm afraid not, my lady. The Hands are as strong as ever. We won't be able to attack them any time soo-" Before Damon could finish his sentence, however, the lady had shoved the tea pot to the floor, cracking it into small pieces and pouring all of the hot tea over the dark carpet, dampening it instantly. Damon stared at the floor blankly for several seconds, before looking back up at his Mistress. Her face was red, angry, and she shook like a leaf in a storm. Her muscles stiff and hands clenched into fists at her sides, she had completely lost her composure. She spoke suddenly.

"**_Why?! _**_All I want is revenge; revenge for what they did to my village, my homeland and my people!_ " Her voice was fuelled with angry emotions, and she screamed at Damon, her gaze venomous. "_I want revenge for..." _She cracked and became hoarse. Her thin, shaky arm reached out to Damon, and in an instant he was clutching at her shoulders, preventing her from falling. "...for what they did to my family. To Isaac. _To me." _A sob suddenly escaped, and tears began pouring down her cheeks, dampening and cooling her warm face before her blood boiled too much. She shrunk to the floor, her pastel blue dress forming a protective circle around her slim and small body. Damon slid down with her, wrapping his arms protectively around her waist, pushing her hair out of her porcelain face. What it revealed was horrible.

A scar, long and jagged and a fleshy white ran across her left cheek. It started off slightly to the left of her eyebrow, and ran all the way down to slightly below her chin, where it stopped. It was impossible to ignore, and ruined the doll appearance that the girl (a child, for her face was too round and she was far too short to be over fifteen) used to have. Anyone-_everyone who is human-_would have recoiled at the sight of it and would be repulsed, because it truly was simply _horrifying, _but not Damon. Damon- a man appearing to be in his early thirties, normal enough looking, and with the company of his Mistress for only slightly over a year-didn't even seem to care that the scare was there.

Instead, he placed his lips near her ear, close enough for the Mistress to feel his hot breath, and called her, whispering soothing words to her, completely oblivious to the world around him.

"Mistress." He called softly. "Mistress. My lady." She didn't respond. He sighed. "_Clara_. Come now. I have an idea. One that might work. Would you like to hear it Mistress Clara?"

The Mistress-_Clara-_looked surprised at him, her eyes still watering and puffy and red, and her body yet to stop trembling like a leaf caught in the wind. She had been distracted by how he had addressed her. By her name. Not Mistress. Not _my lady. _Clara. Her real, birth name.

"You never called me that before. By my name, I mean."

"Because calling a superior lady by her name is disrespectful. Titles are always safer."

"I like it. Would you mind calling me that from now on? You can add the titles before my name, if you want." Damon managed a small smile. He began to stroke her hair; letting is nimble, slender fingers run through the smooth silk.

"Anything you ask, Mistress Clara, is my command. Now, about my idea..." She gave a bitter-sweet laugh, but didn't seem angry.

"Of course you have an idea. You are truly brilliant, Damon. Tell me your idea, then."

"I thank you, Lady Clara. Well, my idea includes kidnapping a troph-Smasher." Damon corrected quickly. Clara frowned.

"Kidnapping? Damon..."

"No need for hurting the Smasher, if you don't wish, Mistress Clara. See, the smasher will be the bait." Nodding in understanding, Clara gestured for him to continue. Damon allowed himself a satisfactory grin.

_This is going to work out like a charm. And when it does, her soul shall be mine..._

**Personally, cliffhangers kill me, but I love using them. In this one story I wrote but abandoned about PJO, my OC main character died in the first chapter... If that isn't weird, I don't know what is.  
>I hope Clara and Damon don't seem to Mary SueishGary Stuish(Clara's appearance is like that on purpose. Dont' worry). I'm pretty sure I convinced most of you Clara is bipolar in this. That is not the case, as much as I would ****_love _****to have another OC character with schizophrenia(and no, I'm ****_not kidding. My _****mind is weird.)**

**You won't be seeing them two for some time. I'm not sure when the next chapter can be up, but school and family is really annoying so it might be around... a week? ****_maybe _****two? I'll work well after midnight to complete it, that I promise.  
>Well..you've read, son now all that is left is to <strong>**_REVIEW! Go on! _****I know you want to!**

**-****_KatFiction-TGS_**


	2. Chapter 1

**Welcome to the second chapter of this fanfic. I'm proud to say that I managed to upload this before the deadline. Now, now-don't give me those dirty looks- I did say ****_maybe _****two weeks. And it will officially be two weeks on Monday, so Ha!  
>This one is longer than the last. I don't know how, seeing as the summary had planned for this was one was so <strong>**_vague _****I thought I wouldn't even manage a thousand words. In the end, I had two thousand and something. I'm pretty proud about it, even if my brother-Harry-called me weird for writing something so long. I scoffed at him when he said that. Long? Two thousand words? He doesn't understand fanfic writers. He's the gamer kind of guy.**

**Oh, yeah, I have something to tell you guys! It's a milestone in my life. I'll mention it in the AN at the end.  
>Disclaimer: I totally own the SSB franchise which is why I am currently writing fantasies here instead of putting them in my actual franchise. Not. As awesome as it would have been.<strong>

* * *

><p>-<strong>Chapter 1-<strong>

_Problems for the Heroes_

_Sweat poured down his neck, shoulders and back, drenching his clothing completely. He shook profusely, and his skin looked a deathly pale. He looked like he would faint any minute. But what he felt was different. Adrenaline pumped furiously through his blood, the beating so loud it ringed in his ears and felt as if a blood vessel would explode any minute now. But he couldn't allow that. He couldn't just die in the middle of a battle. Not him, a hero. No, not him. Not Link._

_A loud crash boomed to his left, and Link toppled to the right, just in time to avoid a sword barrelling towards him. The sword had its tip impaled into the ground, and the blade itself pulsated an eerie aura. The steel was tinted golden. Link's eyes widened and he grabbed the sword while frantically looking around, searching for its owner. It didn't take a genius to figure out who it belonged to. I mean, come on. How many people had a glowing, golden sword? Link only knew one. Ike._

_Said swordsman had been the loud crash which had caused his misbalance. Ike didn't seem to be doing so well. In fact, he seemed to be worst than Link. Both of them were pouring buckets of sweat, and both of them seemed to have their fair share of scratches and bruises, however, Link noticed that a large gash ran down his right arm. It was wide open, gushing thick, blood and splattering the ground, tainting it. Ike's face was stony; his lips were pressed into a tight line. Link fell next to him, momentarily forgetting the chaos which rang about them. When Ike noticed him, he allowed a small, weak tugging of the lips. He tried to move, but refrained himself immediately. He swore. Link shook his head, thank quickly handed him a potion he had packed away._

_"__Drink up, Ike. It doesn't taste pretty, by the way." Ike snatched the potion and ignored the warning, uncorking the bottle and finishing it in three big swigs. He coughed passing it back to Link, them scrunched up his face in disgust. Link grinned, handed him back his sword, and was about to resume fighting, when Ike caught his sleeve and tugged it roughly. Link swirled around, irritated._

_"__What is it?" He snapped. Ike paid no heed to his reaction. He lowered his already-healing hand. Swallowing, Ike stared at him and seemed almost hesitant._

_"__It's about Zelda." Link narrowed his eyes, and gestured him to continue. "Zelda...she's in trouble. She was knocked unconscious"_

_"__What?!" Link was frantic. "Where, Ike? Where?!"Ike gestured to the left, and Link set off in a sprint, avoiding barrelling into other fighting allies. _

_Link found her, sure enough, knocked out. A gash spilled blood from her forehead and onto the ground. Link's emotions and thoughts were haywire. He grabbed her, wrapped her in his arms, and began pulling her out of harm's way, whispering words into her ear despite being unconscious. _

_"__She can't be dead." Link had choked out hoarsely. "She just can't be."_

**_And what if she is?_**

oOo

Link spluttered and sat up, throwing of his blankets drenched in sweat. He swallowed, and then allowed himself a shaky breath. Link brought his hand up to his forehead, still slightly shaky from waking up. _It was just a dream. Just a dream. Nothing but a dream, Link._

**_And what if it wasn't?_**

He snarled subconsciously, and his head snapped around the room, but-as he had suspected-nobody was there. Groaning, Link rolled out of bed, rubbing his forehead forcefully. He couldn't believe this dream still continued to haunt him at night. It was ridiculous. He had been through much worst situations during his quest to defeat the twilight which had shrouded Hyrule. Horrible, gruesome situations, yet he had never had a nightmare about them. So why, even after **_four months,_** did he continue to have these dreams? It was all a mystery to him. Link would have to ask Master Hand about it soon.

Link scowled. No. He couldn't ask Master Hand. Not now. Link couldn't-_wouldn't_-show weakness. After all, the stunt Master Hand had pulled was pretty hard to forget. The way he had so simply attacked them while they had been battered and bruised by Tabuu... It still hurt, somewhere deep in Link's heart, even if he would never admit it. The younger ones were the most surprised. The moment they'd had Master Hand for themselves, questions were bombarded in all directions. _Why were you attacking us, Master Hand? Were you siding with the bad guy? Is this because we destroyed your study room, Master Hand? _Link snorted. Yes, he remembered _that._ It was such a funny memory that it almost lifted his spirits and made him smile. _Almost._

For obvious reasons, most of the older smashers (including the swordsmen) were wary and barely refraining themselves from attacking the damned Hand. They weren't unreasonable people. And, besides, they were far too weak from the battle to cause Master Hand any permanent damage. So, they listened to the Hand as he explained everything to them. Master Hand claimed all of it to be a ploy, a trick, and that when the smashers had arrived he would have immediately switched sides. The Hand told them that the only reason he attacked them was to keep up the facade for the sake of the smashers. Of course, most of the smashers gobbled it all up. Heck, even Link did for a while. He was far too tired and exhausted to argue with its logic.

Yet, after some resting, suspicion had been planted in his mind. It made no sense to him. If the plan had been true, _wouldn't Master Hand have told them? Hinted at least? Why did he do it all secretly? Did he not trust them enough?_ All these questions ran and danced in Link's mind, and he began to notice many older smashers thinking the same. They were wary of Master Hand. They didn't trust him. And so many of the smashers started having secret meetings, coined by Marth and Ike, _the Tournament planning (_because no one else came up with anything better).

It sort of was-sort of wasn't a strange therapy group, where many of the brawlers attending spoke freely, and it was a good change for all of them. They were becoming more relaxed, and slowly, _ever-so-slowly, _the topic of Master Hand became buried away, deep inside the smashers mind. It worked to keep the brawlers minds on something else than hurt and betrayal, and it had a healthy effect on all of them. For almost three months, they had become like the smashers they had been before the Subspace Emissary incident. However that changed several weeks ago, during one of those so-called therapy sessions.

He hated thinking about it. Every time it popped up in his mind, Link was at loss of what to do. The memory was slightly blurry, fuzzy, and he couldn't remember _exactly_ who had been there that day, because his mind refused to let him remember it completely. There had been a huge fight; Link knew that, a fight where Samus had ended up with a broken nose, Marth with a broken arm, and Pit with a broken _everything. _The poor angel had been in midst of the fight, had been everyone's beating bag during that argument (Link refused to remember if he had been part of that group) and yet, had held no grudge or hatred against _any of them. _

The thought itself made Link's stomach churn and nasty vile seemed to accumulate in his throat. It felt as if someone was choking him. Link felt so damn _guilty, _because the angel was to bloody sweet for his own good, and Link knew that he would feel much less guilt about if the boy just screamed at someone-or better yet-punched someone in the face. If Pit wanted, he could've punch Link in the face if he wanted to, but-being an angel-it seemed he was uncapable of feeling the least bit angry. And that made the whole situation much worst.

Being a divine being, he was out of the infirmary in a matter of days, but he had been restricted to a wheel chair for a couple of days. Actually, if Link remembered correctly, Pit had pleaded the doctor and nurse and Master Hand to give him anything else, _anything, _just so long he was out of the wheelchair. Pit had begged so much that, in the end, he had been given crutches. In fact, he was still using them to this day.

A sudden crash and clatter brought Link out of his thoughts, and his head snapped up, ears twitching and eyes narrowing. He stayed silent and still for a couple more seconds, but the moment a soft groan reached his ears, he leaped up, sprinted up to his door and opened it cautiously. Link figured it might've been a thief or something, but the sight before him was completely different.

_Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear._

Before him, sprawled across the floor, was none other than Pit. His eyes were closed, face distorted in mild pain as he held his forehead, and his wings seemed to be twisted in an uncomfortable angle, however the angel seemed to pay no heed. Instead, his free hand was being waved wildly, obviously looking for a crutch that had fallen. His lips moved, but it was quiet and Link didn't manage to hear him, but a frown was etched across his face, so Link could only fathom what Pit was saying. Link stood still for a second longer, before realising that it would be cruel to leave Pit like that, and then reached out to grab his non-bandaged arm.

"Pit? Pit, come 'ere. Give me your arm." Link was careful to not speak to loudly and frighten him, but his efforts were in vain. A small yelp escaped his lips and his eyes snapped open revealing frightened cerulean blue eyes.

"Link!" he whispered. "I-I'm s-sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up." Pit gave a hesitant smile, and looked helplessly at himself sprawled on the floor. "I slipped over a piece of my tunic and fell." Link raised an eyebrow.

"Where were you going?" Pit seemed to not want to tell him, but sighed as ne ran his hand through dark, messy locks.

"To the star-gazing sight." He murmured softly. "Sorry. I swear I didn't mean to wake you up." Link laughed lightly, and Pit seemed confused for a second, before horror flashing across his face. "Link?" He whispered. "Link, why are you smiling like that? Link..." But before Pit could finish his sentence, ne had already been scooped up into the arms of Link. While Link seemed to be grinning maniac, Pit was turning as red as a tomato.

"Link!" He cried, squirming uncomfortably in his arms. "Link, put me down! You can't just pick me up like that!"

"Why not?" Link's tone was mocking, teasing. He found these moments with Pit rather amusing.

"Because!" He thought desperately for an idea as he continued to wriggle like a worm. "Because, you're not wearing a shirt! What if people get the wrong idea?" He was right. Link wasn't wearing a shirt. Which was exactly why he picked Pit up in the first place. He gave a bright chuckle. The angel was ridiculously modest, something many smashers teased him for.

"Don't be ridiculous, Pit. Relax. Besides, I was going to the gaze at the starts too. You didn't wake me up. Still up for it?" The angel's eyes were narrowed, and he finally was laying limply in his arms, not fighting because he would probably harm himself in the process. Ever-so-slowly, he nodded.

oOo

"You know, you're kind of light for your age. What are you, fourteen?" Pit scowled.

"For your information, I am far older than you think I am. It will soon be my 137th birthday." Pit sighed miserably. "But yes, I stopped ageing when I reached my mid-teens. So my looks are equivalent to a mortal-" Link coughed loudly, and a smile slipped onto Pit's face "-or hylian of fifteen years." Link rolled his eyes as he placed Pit lightly onto the grass. The sky was clear tonight. Stars shone brightly in the sky.

"Whatever. That should interest the others. I mean, you're older than everyone else." Link grinned. "That's pretty cool." Link plopped down next to the quiet teen, leaning back to rest against the trunk of the tree. A pleasant silence fell over them for a while as both of them did nothing but stare at the luminous stars which glowed and glittered in the midnight sky. However, the silence had to be broken at some point.

"Link?" Pit's was quiet, as if he thought Link might be asleep.

"Yeah?" Link didn't remove his gaze from the stars. They were relaxing.

"When it is going to end? The paranoia, I mean. And..." he could hear the kid take a shaky breath. "...and the nightmares?" Link sighed and closed his eyes.

"In all honesty, I don't know, Pit. Soon, probably. Before anyone gets hurt again like yo-" Link paused, realising what he was going to say. "Sorry. I didn't mean to put it like that." Pit didn't even seem to pay attention. He didn't seem to care.

"Is it going to end? Or are we going to stay like this until we die? All paranoid and distrustful and stabbing each other behind their backs?" His voice was hoarse and shaky, for lack of better description. Pit was obviously scared. He didn't know what would happen to them. In all honestly, Link didn't know either. But he wasn't about to let the poor boy know that. He had to pretend to be strong, for the boy's sake at least. Link shuffled closer to Pit, wrapping his arms around the boy. He felt as Pit lowered his head to Link's shoulder. His messy locks almost tickling his nose.

"Don't be silly, Pit. Everyone will be back to normal in no time."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Pit."

**_And what if it isn't?_**

* * *

><p><strong>There is no way that counts as cliffhanger!.. Please tell me it doesn't.<strong>

**This was sort of a filler chapter, I apologise. Really, I didn't mean to. Anyway, I'm a slight Link/Pit fan because they so would be cute if they got together. I would, like, faint, or something. But, for obvious (or not so obvious, I dunno) reasons, they will not be a pairing in this story. I will probably stick to the cannon (or not so cannon) Link/Zelda. Maybe. Or maybe they won't even be a couple.**

**About the milestone I mentioned in my AN at the beginning. Friday the 24th of October 2014 (aka, yesterday), marks the day I finally got a serious(ish) injury. I sprained my ankle. And I know that doesn't seem serious, but the last time I got seriously hurt was when I was six(I fell down the stairs) and I don't even properly remember the pain from that. It was stupid really, but it was at the end of school and I have to get a bloody BUS to get home so I kinda limped all the way back. My brother totally didn't laugh at me. Have any of you sprained your ankle before? 'Cause it hurts like hell. My grandmother massaged me on Saturday and told me that she would have to massage me for the whole week. Bummer. Did I mention that the aforementioned week was my vacation week from school? Yeah, IT SUCKS! **

**Enough of my rambling. Review if you like it, Review if you don't! I don't care as long as you tell me why you don't like it. I don't mind constructive criticism. I welcome it. So yeah review!**

**-KatFiction-AWallflower'sSister  
>P.S. I will upload in the next two weeks. Don't forget (Or follow my story. Much easier.)<strong>


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